


Full Of Sugar, Honey, Ice & Tea

by AtomBombBabie



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Medical Procedures, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-game timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25321144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomBombBabie/pseuds/AtomBombBabie
Summary: A cocky spy and grumpy doctor are forced to go on a dangerous mission together; discovering many things about their traveling companion in the process. Will they be able to accomplish the task at hand while constantly at odds? Will the slow erosion of Deacon's smokescreens and Carrington's seemingly impenetrable walls make them into a deadly duo? Probably not. But it'll certainly be interesting to watch them suffer together.
Relationships: Doctor Carrington/Deacon (Fallout)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	1. Let's just stop, Drop everything

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boi... I don't know why I'm doing this to myself.  
> Not only have I fallen down the rabbit hole with this damn ship,  
> But I'm releasing chapter one before having the second even close to being completed.  
> This is going to be a wild ride I tell you..  
> Also, this is a pretty short first chapter and the story starts kinda slow, sorry about that;  
> Try to hang in there with me friends.  
> No sex for a while.  
> OH, And throw out the cannon timeline on safe houses and agents with the railroad, cuz I did...

It had been a while since Carrington woke up to the sounds of people shouting and feet pounding against the faded concrete floors, and for that he was grateful. Things at the Switchboard had been blessedly quiet in recent months, especially after they'd worked out most of the bugs with PAM, which meant even Railroad leadership was getting a bit of rest these days. However that didn't mean that anyone had gotten comfortable or sloppy, the doctor especially, which is why he was the first one awake and rushing out of the makeshift barracks into the main room when trouble sounded. The commotion grew louder, several voices untangling into distinct speakers, normally stealthy footsteps were louder and clumsier in the rush to get to their destination. The large double doors, to what some of the agents referred to as the hive but was basically a lobby, burst open with almost enough force to hit the walls, five figures pouring out of the escape tunnel and through the opening. The doctor attempted to assess the situation from where he stood, Blackbird emerging from the barracks and approaching silently from behind, brushing hair and sleep from his dark eyes.

"Wha'ss this then?" The man slurred groggily before quickly stepping around the new arrivals and securing the doors once more, ever conscientious even in confusion.

"That's precisely what I'd like to know." Carrington remarked, seeing Desdemona breaking away from the pack and stepping forward to head her off. "Des, why exactly is there a caretaker and a escaped synth in our headquarters? I was fairly certain we had rules against these exact occurrences, and I thought we had them for a reason."

The woman came to a halt beside him, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and tapping one free, slipping it between her pursed lips and lighting up. She took a long drag, allowing her eyes to close for just a second, the smoke slowly filtering out through her nostrils. It was the first time the doctor noticed the gentle creases near her eyes and the lines just forming around her lips and on her forehead. She hadn't been in charge of the Railroad very long, only a few years, but clearly the position of authority was taking it's toll on their charismatic leader. Carrington couldn't help but wonder how many years he'd been aged up since becoming a fullblown agent and almost immediately being permanently stationed at Switchboard. Most people didn't actually know what the doctor had done before becoming a headquarters staple, the lives he'd taken and the ones he'd saved, the information he'd gathered and the synths he'd seen to safety; though that was admittedly common for railroad tourists and spies. In fact many agents believed Carrington had never done field work at all and was a physician and tactician the Railroad kept safely locked away; it didn't help that all the senior members of the Railroad who knew, himself included, never saw fit to refute such rumors.

"You have patients, Doctor." Desdemona said definitively, glancing over at him and sighing heavily at his frown and the pinch of his brows, "We have a lot to discuss, and now isn't the time or place. Do your job Doc, and I promise you'll get full details in the morning."

"Full details you say?" His eyes had already moved on to categorizing wounds on the two individuals in need of his healing services, "That'd be a first. But I'll hold you to it, Commander."

The caretaker appeared to be mostly fine, a slight limp and a scrape to his forehead but nothing he couldn't deal with himself. The synth beside him however needed to be thoroughly examined as the blood covering her arms and torso did appear to at least partially be her own, the blood on her face and in her pale hair however was seemingly someone else's. Tommy Whispers brought up the rear looking like he'd been thrown into a meat grinder, leaning heavily against and bleeding all over Deacon, whose long red hair was pulled back into a knot and his tinted glasses were slightly askew on his long thin nose.

"Not to sound lazy, but I think Whispers here might be in need of a bed and some stimpacks, maybe like.. Pronto." Despite looking slightly less put together than usual, in his gore soaked tshirt and tattered cargo pants, the spy couldn't sound more unaffected if he tried, he could have been sipping a beer on a pre-war beach for all his lack of haste or inflection.

"Yes, right then, bring him over here. You, go get a thick blanket to cover the bed and grab some purified water. Anyone else, bring me alcohol, bandages, med-x, and my forceps." Carrington rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, taking out a small bottle and splashing some disinfectant onto his hands, rubbing them together while making eye contact with the bloody synth, "You, come with me if you please. Someone will bring new clothes, but first I have to check your injuries and staunch the bleeding."

"I think Tommy is more seriously injured Doctor, my scrapes can wait." The young woman watched as Deacon navigated the barely conscious railroad heavy into the barracks, already sounding surprisingly independent for a newly escaped synth.

"I agree," The doctor turned and followed the others, noting that the materials he asked for were being gathered, the synth moved to follow him despite her earlier protest, "However your health is equally important to us, so once I steer Mr Whispers back into safe waters I will want to attend to you next, stay close please."

"Acknowledged."

He spared a thought to if his title and manner were psychologically triggering to the battered synth, but the groan of pain from Whispers when Deacon arranged him on the bed quickly overwhelmed his other concerns. The thick wool blanket Carrington had asked for already had a growing red stain creeping outward from where the agent was positioned, multiple visible bullet wounds, lacerations to the face and arms, he was missing half a pantleg and most of the skin below his right knee. There was no time to wonder, the doctor immediately got to work cutting off clothes and dabbing water over the bloodied skin to asses the damage properly. Another set of hands was moving around Tommy's head, slipping a small wooden cylinder between the man's teeth as a bite guard, then quickly retrieving and administering the Med-X without need for direction or command.

Everything the doctor had requested was quickly set up on the bedside table, he didn't even have to ask before Blackbird, who'd assigned himself as errand boy, was passing him a stimpack and his forceps. The last vestiges of clothing were tugged away to reveal the full extent of Whispers' injuries, the dark haired agent beside him whistling sadly at the damage and the red haired agent across from him still looking calm but with a furrow to his brow that betrayed his worry. Indeed it didn't look great, but it also didn't look too far gone, Carrington could work with this; He'd fixed worse. Quickly removing the cap from the stimpack, the mangled leg having already been hastily rinsed of grit, he jammed the needle into the fattiest part of the agents thigh.

"I need you to hold his head," Carrington glanced across the table, seeing the flash of Deacon's glasses as he nodded, "Blackbird, soak one cloth in alcohol and keep one dry, I'm going to have to dig out a few of these bullets or he won't mend properly."

"I 'ave you Doc, mopping duty." The man was ripping an old but clean shirt in half, grabbing the white bottle from the table, the sharp chemical smell immediately filling the space.

"If you would be so kind." He muttered back as he leaned over the restless agent, "This is going to hurt like hell Tommy, but you'll live to die another day, my friend."

Deacon's long fingers brushed the hair off Whispers forehead before he fit his palms over the man's temples, holding him steady as the doctor began his work.

-

It was a slow and foggy few hours of digging lead out of their delirious field agent; the escaped synth taking the initiative to wash and sloppily bandage the wounds she could reach, after being given clothes and a stimpack by an insistent Desdemona, who had set herself up in the doorway to quietly oversee. Their leader even took the time to personally examine the synth's back wounds, apparently caused by an attack dog from what Carrington had briefly overheard, Des' level of attentiveness setting off warning bells in the back of his mind. He kept himself focused, this procedure was painful enough without the doctor allowing his mind to drift, but he promised himself that this time he truly would get Full Details.

The physician sighed heavily as he leaned back, using a handkerchief and disinfectant to remove most of the blood from his hands and fingernails, before moving his fists behind his back and pressing into the arch of his spine until something snapped back into place. He let out a quiet groan and brushed the sweat and damp black hair from his forehead, sighing and finally glancing around to check the status of the rooms other residents. 

Blackbird, who had some training in field medicine of a sort, was finishing wrapping Tommy's mostly healed leg and gently checking all his other bandages to be sure he wasn't already bleeding through them. The female synth had apparently been patched up well enough that she'd curled up in a comfy if dilapidated chair in the corner and passed out, someone having draped a blanket over her slumbering form. She looked much smaller, less hardened and obstinate as she slept, which made the doctor distinctly glad to know how strong and sure she seemed while awake. Des had vanished, probably as soon as it was made clear that Whispers was out of the woods, or perhaps when the synth girl fell asleep. Lastly there was Deacon, who was sat in a chair a little ways to the side and above where their heavy agent laid in bed; though somewhat surprising and even a little unsettlingly was that his unreadable gaze was directed at Carrington instead of Whispers at that moment.

They watched each other for several long seconds, the doctor's eyes sharpening and the corners of his mouth pulling down in slight irritation, whereas the red head tilted his chin and quirked an eyebrow with something like curiosity.

"What?" Carrington deadpanned, his fingers moving to the buttons of his soiled coat and pulling them free, shrugging it down his shoulders before tossing it onto a nearby metal office desk.

"You really do decent work Doc, especially for someone as young as you are." Carrington couldn't be sure, but it seemed like Deacon looked him up and down as he responded, it was strange enough that the man almost didn't entirely catch what was said.

"Coming from you, am I to believe that's a compliment?"

The spy smirked and spread his hands, palms up in a show of openness, "I'm wounded Carrington, you break my heart. I'm simply trying to say you really know your way around a bloody body."

An icy chill seemed to steal through the room as Carrington's back went ramrod straight, his teeth clicked together and he blinked hazy eyes several times before the slow bob of his adam's apple indicated his preparation to speak. Deacon's head cocked to the side, eyebrows pinching in what one had to assume was actual confusion.

"Was it something I said?"

"I'm going to bed. In my office. No one bother me; and I trust you should be able to keep Tommy from any thrashing. He can have another shot of Med-x in two hours, but that's the cut off."

With that the railroad physician spun on his heal and stomped out, no one bothering to respond as he was no longer listening. Everyone knew how he got when he was overly tired and cranky. The spy watched him though, eyes hidden to the world but always absorbing everything the world had to offer. Now they were focused on one thing, and that something was just beginning to peak his curiosity too, before it disappeared. He'd have huffed brattily or sighed with exaggerated melancholy if he had an audience, but as he had no one to put on a show for he allowed his face to smooth out once more, apparently falling deep into thought as he waited to administer his friend's next dose of painkiller.

Desdemona had of course been in the office when the doctor arrived, smoking a cigarette with her forehead braced against her palm, reading over field reports and occasionally typing something into their shared terminal. Neither of them bothered to greet the other, Carrington latching the door closed and walking over to the couch in the middle of the office, all but collapsing onto it. He kicked his shoes off and stretched long and hard, making a satisfied noise as his joints popped, curling his mildly underfed body - surprise surprise, joining the railroad had a few unhealthy side effects, such as forgetting to eat due to stress or lack of opportunity - into a ball and finally shutting weary eyes. The steady inhale and exhale across the room, coupled with the gentle tapping of keys, somehow became the perfect lullaby and within minutes the overworked man was out like a candle.


	2. Forget each others names and walk away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank The GODS this chapter is done!  
> This is virtually the end of the slow wind up, from here we get all the Carrington/Deacon angsty angry one on one goodness that I started this fic to write. Hopefully that means it'll flow quicker from now on, but I don't make promises to myself unless I know I can keep them. Next up we get OTP camping! Everyone's favorite! Right? RIGHT???
> 
> Drop me a comment, let me know where you think this partnership is heading, what you'd like to see in coming chapters from these two jaded fools.

"So, Out with it."

The second in command of the railroad demanded, glaring softly at his Commander, something he only really did with her; usually infusing most of his facial expressions with as much ire as possible. But the softball approach would end the second she dropped a necessary detail, and he made that clear as he crossed his arms and raised his brows expectantly. The auburn haired woman leaned back in her desk chair, the deep bags under her eyes and the overflowing ashtray speaking to her lack of sleep. She retrieved her pack of cigarettes, opening it and frowning at it's emptiness. Carrington pulled an almost full pack from his shirt pocket, tossing it on her desk next to her lighter.

"Thanks." She mumbled as she pressed the thin white stick between her lips, "I don't supposed I could convince you to let me get a cup of coffee first?"

"You could have gotten one or more at any point throughout the night apparently, so I don't believe it medically necessary right now." He replied, shifting his stance and pinning her with a disapproving look.

"Yeah, I thought not. Alright, just give me a second to pull up my report."

"I don't want your cleaned up version for the records Desdemona. I want to know what possessed a woman of intellect such as yourself to allow an only marginally vetted caretaker, and a newly escaped synth, into our usually secure and very secret base of operations?"

The doctor could practically feel his colleague swallow a sigh, a cloud of smoke filtering through her pursed lips as she laced her fingers and rested her elbows against the desk. She usually kept up a stern appearance, even amongst her closest associates, but at the moment whatever was going on was weighing heavily upon her.

"First off, this is one of those conversations that never happens, there's too many people already tied to getting us this information.. Only those who I'm deploying are going to know anything, this entire operation is strictly and entirely off the books." She did sigh now, rubbing her forehead and tamping out her cigarette, "This isn't our usual case, but it's extreme enough that I do feel we must take action before lives are lost and trust is broken."

"Quit stalling and tell me Des, You know I've been doing this longer than most agents survive."

"Several synths that were sent to the surface by our friend Patriot have been snatched by raiders. Nuka world raiders, to be exact."

"Slavers.. oh god. I.. well, I see why this information is so alarming. But how do the rescued synth and our caretaker fit into this?"

"She wasn't rescued. She found us, or at least a safehouse of ours, after tracking a friend to the gates but not having the man power to free her fellow synths alone. She came all the way back, wandered around until she caught our caretaker's attention, and asked for the railroad. He's been with us long enough to know the difference between a synth in distress and an institute spy, so he got a message to Ticon, Ticon got it to Deacon, and Deacon got it to me. I sent him and Tommy to escort both of them here, I plan on training our caretaker up to be an agent, and the synth.. well, she's only interested in saving her friends at the moment, not interested in talking about future plans. She's still pretty shaken up and distrusting, but the information she has on the missing synths will be invaluable in infiltrating Nuka world and rescuing them."

"Rescuing them?" Carrington's arms dropped in shock and he blinked slowly, "Since when do we infiltrate deadly raider gangs in order to free their slaves?"

"Since they started taking our synths." Desdemona's eyes flashed dangerously as she leaned back in her chair once again, looking at her friend through narrowed eyes, "Do you object?"

"Object? Have you finally lost your mind..? Of course I object!" His hands came down hard on the desk, "A hundred times.. A hundred times your agents have begged you to step in where human life was being lost, and you refused because the railroad is a one trick pony; we only ever save synths, and we Never risk more than we can gain. That was how you claimed you kept us alive. But now this? You want us to make direct moves against Nuka Slavers, who are nastier and more organized then any standard wasteland threat, and all because one newly escaped institute synth claims that raiders got her friends. Who are we going to be sending out to slaughter for this Des? Whose lives have we deemed worth the risk? And how exactly are we sure she's in distress, as you and our caretaker claim, and not a clever agent who now has Access To Our Base and was sent to get us to ruin ourselves with this fool mission?"

They met each other's eyes, both refusing to look away or speak for several seconds, the air crackling with electricity and laden with unanswered questions. It wasn't the first or last time they'd disagree over a decision made for the railroad, in fact they probably worked so well together because of their ability to go toe to toe but still present a united front after the argument. 

This time was slightly different though, the doctor could feel his stomach churning with anxiety and hot anger. He'd never understood why Des was so against helping people who weren't synths, but he stood by her choices anyway, as he was well aware of what he signed up for. He'd never been good enough to save the people who mattered anyway, so changing his focus to rescuing synths for the railroad had been almost easy. After a while, anyway. However, the amount of people she'd condemned in far less dangerous situations all came rushing to mind now, as she suggested that this new mission was somehow a cause worthy of risking their entire organization. Which is exactly what it would do if, for any reason, the agents were revealed to be railroad members to the raiders.

"What would you have me do instead? Throw her to the wolves and forget everything we heard?"

"You do it all the time with humans. Why is this so different?"

The slightly older woman growled, shoving herself from her seat and standing, beginning to pace like a trapped beast, "Do you think I came to this decision overnight? I've been stuck on this issue for days Carrington, going over every risk and all the possibilities. There's simply no way we can keep the trust of our escaped synths if they find out we'd turn our backs on them like this, not to mention our agents. Deacon was ready to run off ALONE the moment he found out, and if you think he's the only one foolhardy enough to try then you're kidding yourself."

"Since when do you care if synth-kind trusts you? We don't need them to trust us in order to save them, you said that yourself. They elect for the mindwipe after speaking with Amari, not us. Most of the time railroad leadership is little more than a whisper and a rumor. Unless of course we let them straight in through our secret escape tunnel." He could tell neither of them were budging on their opinions, but he wanted her to tell him directly why this meant so much to her before he'd concede that her say was final.

"This is important, why can't you see that?"

"I certainly see that you think it is, but you've yet to plainly tell me why. I'll say again Desdemona, we've turned down people for worse reasons; What's different this time?"

The woman actually broke eye contact, placing her head in her hands, all the energy seeming to leave her body at once as she sunk back into her seat, "She's what's different."

"The synth?" Carrington ventured, going with his instincts from earlier.

"Glory. Her name is.. it's Glory."

Carrington examined her body language, the slump of her shoulders, the curve in her spine. Her lack of rest and abundance of stress, the deep bruises beneath her eyes. She seemed defeated, small. He'd only seen this from her once before. The yellowed chair in front of their desk had never been his favorite, but he took it anyway. Des glancing over her hands as he lowered himself till they were at the same eye level.

"I see.. Why don't you tell me about her."

-

It was quiet when Carrington entered the main barracks. Songbird and Maven were sitting by the small cooking fire making themselves something that smelled almost edible; Blackbird was gone on mission, probably having left before the doctor woke. The Synth, Glory, was still in the room but had moved to sit in the chair Deacon had been occupying last night, said agent was no where to be seen, but that didn't mean he wasn't nearby. The man whom the doctor actually came to see, Tommy Whispers, was wide awake, looking rather lucid and well. His leg had been unwrapped and uncovered, looking shiny and red with new skin. He had fresh bandages on his head, and shoulders as well, which didn't seem to have any staining, a promising sign. His pale bloodshot eyes were unusually bright, he was even laughing, well he was chuckling quietly while listening to something his new comrade was telling him.

The physician paused in his approach, taking a moment to catalog what information the scene provided. Glory had scooted the chair a bit further off the wall so the wounded agent needn't strain his neck to look at her, both of them already seeming genuinely comfortable in each other's presence. Her wounds must have also been seen to again because what bandages Carrington could see - peeking from under an oversized white button down and ripped black jeans that had to be cuffed to fit over her dusty cracked leather combat boots - were tightly wrapped and still relatively clean. His two patients appeared to be discussing the previous day's events, rehashing some of the close calls they had on the way to the Switchboard which had resulted in the heavy being severely wounded.

The two agents by the door quickly finished their meal, Maven pinning up her dusty brown hair and shrugging on her scavenger coat before giving Songbird a peck on the cheek and heading out; on her way to check the dead drops no doubt. Birdy had a nervous look on her face, still young and new to the Railroad team, but dedicated in the way only dreamers can be. She'd be off on her first long term assignment soon, Des having tasked the young woman with setting up a railroad synth in a local settlement, hoping to create another emergency safe house. The woman smiled and offered the doctor a wave as she headed towards the exit.

"Good morning Sir."

"Good day Songbird."

The small exchange finally caught the attention of the room's other occupants; Tommy meeting Carrington's eye and offering a suitably bashful grin, while the synth beside him looked as if she'd been tracking the doctor's moves since he entered but finally had a reason to watch him directly. Had the physician been taking a tally, her suspicion and overall observedness would have been a few points in her favor, and how easily she seemed to be winning over his team would be a check both for and against her. But he wasn't keeping a list, as any decision regarding the white haired woman had been firmly removed from his hands. Which was fine, let Desdemona deal with her infatuation however she willed, it no longer had anything to do with the mission.

"Hey Doc, good to see ya."

"Mister Whispers, it's been a while. I was surprised, normally you aren't the one around HQ trying to make my life more difficult." 

Glory looked as if she wanted to speak up then, Carrington almost clinically curious what she planned to say, but he wasn't destined to find out as Whispers shook his head and laughed. When he spoke up his voice was warm with familiarity and it made something old and sweet curl in the dark haired man's stomach.

"Missed you too, even your abysmal bedside manner. Ya know.. I really do try to stay out of too much trouble.. Usually. So much for good intentions, right? Next time I'll bring you flowers."

The physician almost found himself smiling back, but he shoved it down, forcing a scowl onto his face that didn't seem to be very convincing, if his agents widening smirk was anything to go on. He stepped closer, depositing two syringes and a roll of bandages onto the bedside table. Glory had fallen very silent, but the way her gaze shifted between them made the doctor think that she knew more about interpersonal relationships then some of the other synths they'd gotten to know. That was interesting.

"I don't need your flowers Tommy, but less bullet holes would be a lovely gesture."

"Consider it done princess."

"I know how to dislocate every limb you are currently in possession of."

"Now now boys, don't start the fun without me."

For some unacknowledged reason Carrington felt a shiver run up his spine and he refused to glance behind him, knowing just by the sound of his voice that he'd be leaning there in the doorway, as if he'd been here the entire time just waiting to chime in. He still had never been able to entirely place his discomfort with Deacon, the instantaneous nervousness that the spy had invoked in him since their very first meeting almost six years ago. Were he the superstitious type he'd call it intuition, but as someone who grew up in the post apocalyptic hell of the capital wasteland, it was probably just good old fashion paranoia coupled with survival instincts. Most people raised the way he was knew when a predator was in the room, and you never left your back open to that sort. Unless you had something to prove, of course.

The soft scuffing of Deacon's boots as he came closer was purposeful, he was fully capable of being silent as a spider while crawling through the Switchboard. Carrington measured his approach by the shifting of the new synth's eyes, she apparently wasn't as friendly with the spy, just their heavy agent and possibly the caretaker she'd spent the most time with. Another metaphorical point in her favor.

"Deacon. Thanks again, for everything but mostly for keeping my sorry carcass above ground." Tommy was the first to greet him, his eyes still bright with something like affection, it made the doctor want to turn away.

"Above ground is generally where I prefer your carcass T, make sure you keep it that way." The spy stopped at the foot of the bed, mirrored eyes reflecting two unimpressed faces and one grin.

"No more bullet holes, no dirt naps.. you and Carrington sure are asking a lot of your agents these days."

Deacon shifted then, appearing to take in the doctor for the first time this morning. Carrington resisted the urge to roll his eyes, rolling up his sleeves instead, which the spy continued to watch with what seemed to be undivided attention, before picking up one of the needles from earlier. He held it at eye level, flicking the side to make any air bubbles rise to the top before depressing the plunger until fluid spit out of the tip.

"I'm actually very busy, especially after last nights debacle, believe it or not. Mister Whispers, this is your last dose of antibiotics. Experiencing sickness of the stomach or fatigue is relatively normal, but report any symptoms beyond that to me please."

"Of course, thanks Doc. I owe you one."

"You owe me several, actually." Carrington shot back with no heat, "That stimpack is for when you start walking, I'm sure I don't have to explain. Take it easy for at least today, don't agitate your wounds or they may reopen. I trust our new friend here can ensure you don't take unnecessary risks while healing."

The synth met the physician's eyes, giving him a firm nod of recognition but remaining silent. She was adjusting to freedom remarkably well, he could almost understand why Des was smitten so fast.

"Thank you, Glory."

That got a stronger reaction, though he hadn't actually meant it as anything other than being polite. Her lips parted in shock, eyes going blank and body rigid. Her chest and shoulders became impossibly still as she ceased breathing altogether for several moments. Carrington wasn't sure what trauma he'd brushed against, but he absolutely knew the signs when presented with them.

"Whispers is usually one of the more reliable railroad agents, so I trust he won't give you any trouble. You'll certainly be doing us a favor though. Please make yourself at home in the time being, it's probably not what you're used to, but I imagine that's what's best about it." He kept his deep brown eyes trained on her's as he nodded once.

After a short moment she blinked and nodded back, "Got it, thanks Carrington."

"Good day you two."

He turned on his heel, leaving silence and medical supplies in his wake, though he was sure Tommy would draw her back out into conversation fairly quickly. That man had always been the empathic sort, in a quiet and sometimes boyish type way, and she was already proving to be immensely resilient. The doctor nearly reached the stairs leading to the office before spinning around abruptly, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why are you following me?"

"You didn't say goodbye, so I figured you must want me to follow you. Wait.. that's not what was happening here? No hanky panky in the broom cupboard?"

"I'm sure you think you're hilarious, but I have no time from your games Deacon."

"What's the rush?" The spy mirrored Carrington's body language almost unnervingly well, the casual tone of his question belying his true intent. He was digging for information.

"Nothing that need concern you, now if you don't mind-"

"Deacon." Desdemoma's voice came from the head of the stairs, both men glancing her way in unison, "See me in my office for mission details."

Carrington stayed put while the man made his way past, their shoulders brushing briefly. Des waved him ahead of her before walking down a few stairs to reach the doctor. She pulled out a cigarette from the pack he'd given her earlier, meeting her colleague's gaze. There was an unspoken moment between them that made the man heave a heavy sigh, rubbing his forehead and letting his eyes fall closed.

"I just don't understand why it has to be Him."

"With Whispers out of the picture for now, and Miss Imogen M.I.A since operation red waters, Deacon is the only one I trust to bring you back in one piece. Plus he already knows too much to not be involved."

"I disagree with him being the best option."

"I disagree with you going at all."

"Yes, I'm well aware." He replied, giving her a stern look, "But despite your many reservations I am actually the most qualified for this particular mission, and if I can not convince you to reconsider your tactics than I won't be convinced of sitting this out. You're too close to this, and everyone else is either too new, too sloppy, or already on assignment."

"I concede your point; that's exactly why you'll deal with whomever I send along to keep you alive."

The man bit his tongue, reaching out and stealing the lit cigarette. He shooed her away when she placed a hand on his shoulder, inhaling smoke into the deepest recesses of his lungs. It didn't do what it used to, the nicotine haze, and he hated the way it stained his fingers and teeth; but he still needed the way it smelled like sun and radiation scorched sand, the way it tasted like family and home. The woman left him to stew, ascending back up the steps and closing the door to the office behind her with a resolute thunk. Soon Deacon would have full details as well, and in the near future they'd be setting out on the long journey east. Carrington groaned in annoyance and flicked ashes to his feet.

-

It had been two days since Desdemona assigned Deacon to the Nuka world mission, and two days since anyone had seen the man. He hadn't even stopped by to torment Carrington before vanishing, which the doctor was happy about, he was. The tone of their interactions had changed recently and he wasn't sure what caused it, or how to adapt, it made Carrington feel off kilter whenever he was around. That didn't stop the man from being irritated at his soon-to-be traveling companion's sudden departure, though he was virtually always irritated with everything Deacon did. They weren't supposed to be leaving for another two days anyway, which was just enough time for the doctor to wrap up a few choice tasks and run a quick errand in Goodneighbor.

He was packing his travel bag very sparingly so he had enough room for stock once he reached the city, it was probably half past six in the morning and he wanted to be there and back before nightfall. He left his white jacket and clean button up in the office, folded neatly atop a filing cabinet that he used for storing his personal items, of which there were few. Today he instead wore a long sleeved black shirt and harness that attached to deathclaw leather shoulder and leg guards, as well as his pistol holster, over worn denim jeans and soft hiking boots that made little sound as he moved. It was his usual travel attire, which meant almost no one had ever seen him in it, it was very rare he was allowed out these days. He slid on a tattered gray duster, belting the waist so most of his gear was hidden. The less questions he had to not answer, the better. 

After he got back it would be crunch time, a little extra sleep to help with travel fatigue, and one last meeting with Desdemona to go over the crucial details. He popped a small white pill between his lips and swallowed, tossing his pack over his shoulder and making his way through the doors in the back of the office. A few turns, a staircase or two, and one elevator ride later, he was pushing open the bookcase and stepping into the donut shop basement. They always kept this area well cleared and monitored, so he didn't hesitate to climb the stairs that exited into the main shop. 

The air was warmer and thicker above ground, making him feel a slight sheen of sweat break out from all his layers. Moving out of the doorway and around the side of the shop he paused in an alley, quickly peeling off his coat and stuffing it in his bag. The commonwealth cooled fairly quickly in the early fall evenings, so he'd want it again, but traveling during the morning and afternoon would probably be more than warm enough. Shrugging his pack back on he glanced up at the impossibly blue sky, breathing deeply for the first time in what felt like months. If nothing else, the sky was worth coming to the surface to see again. The doctor wasn't as distracted as he seemed though, so he spotted the quick flash of sunlight off tinted glass. Back swiftly pressed to the wall and hand braced against the grip of his gun, Carrington silently shifted further into the alley and it's accompanying shadows.

The sound of gunshots in the distance didn't phase him, there were always gunshots, this was the heart of the commonwealth. What did phase him was that if someone knew he was here, and had the means to cause him trouble, why would they be going for the stealth approach? He was one man, alone, and by his own admission he was not built like a log cabin. He wasn't a pushover by any means, but you couldn't tell by the looks of him, he preferred it that way actually. Which left him to wonder why they were going through the trouble of staying quiet, each possible explanation more terrible than the last. A sound behind him had him ducking and spinning, simultaneously drawing his gun. His finger was on the trigger, safety off, he almost had time to pop off a shot but no. The full force of a large body knocked him to the ground, hands shoving and groping until his gun was above his head and the hand that held it was roughly pinned to the asphalt. Hipbones pressed into his, shoving his lower body down and holding it there, while his other arm was pinned against his side.

The man that held him down was utterly foreign and quite unlike what he usually expected from this particular treatment. He was broad and long, thicker with muscle than the doctor himself but not massive. His clothes were clean, he didn't smell of booze or piss or testosterone. His hands were large and calloused from gripping guns, but that was common, you had those by the age of twelve in these parts. His head was completely bald, as if hair didn't even grow there anymore, but the man could only be in his late thirties, early forties at the latest. Maybe a side effect of high radiation exposure, or a genetic mutation. The smaller man could see his own angry sneer in the mirrored shades that sat on a strong slightly arched nose.

"Tsk tsk Carrington, pretty sloppy. If I were the truly unscrupulous sort I could have done all sorts of dirty things to you by now. Or you know.. just shot you while you were cloud gazing and looted your pretty little corpse."

"You.. Oh! You have Got to be fucking kidding! Deacon?"

"Yep, hey Doc. I'd let you go, but you kinda look like you still wanna shoot me."

"Indeed, more than ever before perhaps."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading~ Hope you're liking Sugar H.I.T so far. I have no friends and therefore no Beta reader, so I'm up for friendly & constructive criticism anytime. And if you still do the tumbles you can catch me at AtomBombBaddie ;D


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